Page 158 of Jewel of the Assassin

“Do you need to be punished?”

“Yes, but…” I feel the brat rising, and I let it. My cock twitches inside her as she licks her lips and flicks her eyes to mine. “With all due respect, your punishments only make me come harder. So, won’t it be just a revolving cycle?”

A few of the men can’t contain the laughter blowing through their cheeks. Oh, she will most certainly be punished.

Pulling myself from her, my dick drenched in her fluids, I part those burning cheeks. Without hesitation, I slide into her back hole. She groans through every inch until I’m fully seated in her ass. Sweat slicks her skin. It beads on the foreheads of the spectators.

Still gripping her hair, I bring one hand around her chest and knead her full breasts, twisting the nipples harshly. She bucks, struggling against the pain. I slap each one, loving how they bounce, how those nipples grow rock hard for me.

Now, I fuck her. Deep, slow, and deliberate. The force shakes her whole body. As I pick up the rhythm, I bring my hand down to her naughty center—and strike her. It’s the first time she shrieks. Driving my cock into her dirty ass, I slam my hand between her legs, unleashing hell on her tender nub with its hypersensitive nerves. I grind my erection inside those inner walls, grunting through each thrust, my pelvis slapping the smoldering mess of her buttocks.

She drips more.

“Look at you,” I hum low, lowering one hand to palm her flaming bottom, feeling her shiver. “You love it in any hole you can get, don’t you, dirty girl? Love me fucking your ass while I spank your sopping wet pussy. Such a slut for me. Only for me.”

Heavy breaths thunder through the room. A few close-mouthed groans. I ignore them all. Only her.

Then, I pick up the jewel, still wet with her juices, and press it to her inflamed clit, rubbing as my fingers pump in and out of her.

“I-I can’t stop, oh, God, I’m going to come!” she cries, long and soprano.

Her whole body vibrates. One more strike of my hand targeting her clitoris, and Valentina convulses. I sink three fingers into her sloppy cunt, groaning deeply at her strong muscles pulsating around my fingers, sucking them like her life depends on it.

Pounding my cock in quick, fiery thrusts, I bury myself deep in her ass, shooting my cum in her filthy hole. With the heel of my hand palming her clit, and my other tugging at her nipples, it doesn’t take long to send her over the edge again.

After her tight ass milks the final drops from mycock, I regain my composure, give her backside another slap, and shove myself back into my pants. And with the calm ferocity of a king, I sit back down on my throne, take my breathless and sated queen in my lap, and narrow my eyes upon my new syndicate—made possible by Valentina’s demonstration.

“Thank you, gentlemen. You are dismissed.”

Epilogue

VALENTINA

FIVE MONTHS LATER

Everything from my waist down is paralyzed.

Late pre-eclampsia. Thank God it was late!

Not being able to move my legs? It’s strange. Uncomfortable. Powerless.

But Roman is at my side, cupping my forehead and kissing the bridge of my nose as the doctor performs the incision so we may welcome our baby boy to the world.

“Everything is as it should be, Valya,” Roman assures me.

Of course, it is. He had an entire maternity wing built, hired one of the best obstetricians in the world, and assembled a surgical team on standby for emergencies.

Love burns in my chest for him. I never thought I would need a C-section. Tears slide down my cheeks because it’s overwhelming. I don’t know why. Thousands of women have C-sections every year. It’s routine. But after a sleepless night of constantchecks for seizures until I wanted to scream at the nurses, I feel wrung out, brittle, and fragile. Not a failure. Just…weak.

Not once in my life have I ever felt weak.

But Roman? He is my strength.

When they asked if I wanted to be put under, I refused. I need to be awake. I need to see my child born.

“Breathe, Moya Koroleva. We are almost there.” My husband brushes his knuckles across my cheek, warming my skin and my soul.

The curtain at my chest keeps me from seeing, but I feel the strange tugging, the pressure deep inside as the doctor works. I squeeze Roman’s hand. His emerald eyes lock with mine, grounding me. Seconds stretch.